]]>https://ctyanqui.wordpress.com/2011/07/20/eldespegue/feed/1jvettingerLa dificultad de despedirsehttps://ctyanqui.wordpress.com/2011/07/06/la-dificultad-de-despedirse/
https://ctyanqui.wordpress.com/2011/07/06/la-dificultad-de-despedirse/#commentsWed, 06 Jul 2011 23:08:14 +0000http://ctyanqui.wordpress.com/?p=210Making friends here has been delightfully uncomplicated. Almost all the Argentines I’ve met have been de muy buena onda, as the saying goes. Outgoing, easygoing, and I can’t think of another adjective that ends with -going, but you get the idea. Not to mention they’re curious about the States, and whatever their opinion may be of our government they are very interested in picking an American’s brain for a while.

Add in the fact that the Universidad Nacional de La Plata attracts exchange students from all over the world, and you’ve got a recipe for a delicious stew of cultures. Mmmm…multicultural understanding and friendship…tasty.

Left to right behind me: American, Argentine, Colombian, German

Unintentionally creepy metaphors aside, it has been an absolute pleasure getting to know the kids (and adults) here. I’ve had both good old-fashioned fun and intense discussion on every topic imaginable. And out of that, I really feel like I’ve developed some great relationships. Which, of course, is going to make it all the more difficult to say goodbye. Ain’t that how it goes.

But to paraphrase the old cliché, it is better to have made a friend in a foreign country and potentially not see him again than to never to have met him at all. Plus if you come back to visit, you can probably crash on his couch.

I also take a lot of comfort in knowing that I’ve forged bonds just as strong with my fellow W&M students. The shared experience of living in Argentina, with all the difficulties, good times, craziness, and inside jokes that come along with it, is something that we’ll always have in common.

Now what if I told you they belong to an indigenous group called the Guaraní, and that they live in a small, relatively isolated village called Fortín M’bororé near Puerto Iguazú, Misiones, Argentina?

What if I told you they are desperately poor, and live on crops that their fathers manage to grow themselves and whatever money their mothers can make selling crafts to tourists?

What if I told you they weren’t barefoot by choice?

Would you still say they were happy?

On the day this picture was taken, we ate a meal prepared by some of the women of the village. We played fútbol with the boys. We got a tour from a young Guaraní man who spoke Spanish. He showed us their crops (sugarcane, squash, yerba mate) and the traditional traps they still use to catch animals (all made out of wood and held together with vines).

When the day was over and we returned to the relative luxury of our hostel, I couldn’t help but wonder. Many of the Guaraní suffer from malnutrition and they lack basic medical care. But they live on their ancestral land, they hunt in the same way they have for hundreds of years, they practice their religion, they grow crops, they sell handmade crafts, they wash their clothes in the river. They marry and have children. In short, they live their lives.

So are they happy?

If your definition of happiness is comfort, long-term security, and material possessions, then you’d have to say no. This is not an easy life, or even necessarily a safe one.

But the Guaraní of Fortín M’bororé do the best they can with what they have. They care for their families and they are free to practice their traditions.

Call me crazy, but you could do a lot worse.

]]>https://ctyanqui.wordpress.com/2011/07/06/happiness/feed/1jvettinger260309_2104387696907_1461944294_32383310_820828_nReverse culture shockhttps://ctyanqui.wordpress.com/2011/05/21/reverse-culture-shock/
https://ctyanqui.wordpress.com/2011/05/21/reverse-culture-shock/#respondSat, 21 May 2011 17:03:12 +0000http://ctyanqui.wordpress.com/?p=176It’s so interesting how you can pick up mannerisms, habits, and attitudes from another culture and make them your own (naturally, it happens a lot faster when you’re actually living in a foreign country). When I get back to the States, I know the following things will happen at least once:

I will freak out a male friend by greeting him with a kiss on the cheek.

I will get strange looks when I bring a thermos and mate to class.

I will say “chao” instead of “bye.”

I will cause a heated argument by referring to the US as an imperialist power.

I will try to explain the dynamics of Argentine fútbol by comparing Boca Juniors to the Red Sox and River Plate to the Yankees.

I will feel cold and get up to light the gas estufa, only to remember I have central heat.

At 2 AM on a Friday, I will try to convince people that the night has only just begun.

When I bump into someone accidentally, I will say “perdón.”

In classic Argentine style, I will communicate that “I have no idea” by flicking my hand under my chin, unintentionally pissing off a person of Italian ancestry in the process.

No, Tony, I'm not flipping you off. I'm just saying I haven't the slightest clue why you aren't extremely offended by Jersey Shore.

For a brief second, I will wonder why there are no Spanish subtitles on TNT’s showing of “Men in Black.”

I will remember (too late) that I don’t have to flag down a city bus in the US to get it to stop for me.

I will no longer be afraid of American cops, having realized that 95% of them are honest (instead of the reverse being true).

I will make up new political/ideological movements by adding “-ismo” to the end of a person’s name or concept. (ex. Obamanismo)

I will never casually refer to a person I can’t find as having “disappeared.”

I will ask the guy in charge of the music at a party if he has any cumbia songs. I will be disappointed.

I will wince when someone mispronounces a Spanish word or name.

A one-hour wait at the DMV will seem like five minutes by comparison. On a related note, government and university bureaucracy will seem refreshingly efficient.

I will be pleasantly surprised after an hour of hanging out at a friend’s house that no one has stepped outside to smoke.

A Spanish professor will raise an eyebrow and correct me when I address a classmate as “vos.”

]]>https://ctyanqui.wordpress.com/2011/05/21/reverse-culture-shock/feed/0jvettingerLiving just enough for the cityhttps://ctyanqui.wordpress.com/2011/05/13/living-just-enough-for-the-city/
https://ctyanqui.wordpress.com/2011/05/13/living-just-enough-for-the-city/#commentsFri, 13 May 2011 00:48:01 +0000http://ctyanqui.wordpress.com/?p=153I never saw myself as an urban kind of guy.

I was born and raised in the suburbs, and Glastonbury, CT isn’t exactly a bustling metropolis. In a town of fifty-two square miles but just forty thousand people, going over to a friend’s house might involve a twenty-minute drive. There’s no public transportation. The center of town has restaurants, shops, banks, the public library, and a Whole Foods, and that’s about it. My only experiences with “city living” up to this point have been vacationing or visiting friends.

On top of that, I’m the type of person who likes to be alone now and then to rest and recharge. That’s no problem when you have your own bedroom in a two-story house in a suburban neighborhood where the only time people go outside is to mow the lawn. Before this semester, I assumed it would be more difficult in a busy city, where you can never truly escape the crowds, the noise, and the smells of the street.

But what I’ve discovered in La Plata is that a city offers a different type of community and a different kind of loneliness.

Some days, when I’m walking to the Comisión or to class at the university, I’m struck by the constant movement, the sheer numbers of human beings living in the same space. La Plata isn’t a megacity like Buenos Aires, but six hundred thousand people is no suburb. I imagine all the different stories passing by in just a few short blocks: the blue-collar construction worker, the first-year university student, the mother pregnant with her second child, the old married couple, the rebellious high schooler. It’s impossible to escape the feeling that in such a concentrated mass of people, every kind of human activity is not only possible but is actually happening right now.

Then there are strange moments when my mind runs in another direction. I put in my earphones and press play, and time distorts. I’m encased in a bubble, or moving through a blurry tunnel, and the other people on the street, the stray dogs wandering past, the traffic noise, the streetlights, all seem part of some weird fever dream. The city itself is alive; it’s more than the sum of its inhabitants. You get the feeling that individuals are interchangeable, that you could swap any person for anyone else and it wouldn’t make a shred of difference to La Plata as an entity. It’s beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

You can look at this one of two ways. City living can be dehumanizing, because you become little more than an ant in a colony, reduced to one insignificant speck among thousands and millions of others. Or you can choose to rejoice in the fact that you’re never far from human interaction if you want it. The bonds of community can be infinitely stronger in a city neighborhood than in a suburban neighborhood, just because everyone is relatively close. In La Plata, I don’t have to get in a car just to see a friend. All I have to do is give a yell to the family upstairs, or send a text to the other W&M students to meet up in the plaza to drink mate.

Granted, this is in the context of a mid-size Argentine city. La Plata is pretty tranquil when compared to Buenos Aires or an American metropolis like New York. The streets are relatively quiet after dark and there are plazas and green spaces every seven or eight blocks. Doubtless I’d feel differently in BsAs, and I’m not saying I’m going to move to Brooklyn straight out of college. But after three months in an urban environment, I can see myself living in a smaller city or the outskirts of a big one. Baby steps.